


Don't Let Go

by Nickety



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Kissing in the Rain, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:08:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22299856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nickety/pseuds/Nickety
Summary: "He took her hands, placing one against the pulse in his neck, slipping the other beneath the collar of his shirt to rest over his heart. “This is real, Clarke. I’m real. I’m right here. Can you feel me?”Clarke nodded, focusing on the palpable proof of his life and his devotion, the steady beating of his loving, loyal heart. “Bell,” the whisper of his name was soft and tender as she tipped her forehead against his and held his gaze.Bellamy took in a shuddering breath, framing her face in large, warm hands. “I’ve got you, Clarke. I promised you together once, I won’t let you down again.”Now that Bellamy has Clarke back again, nothing will ever get in the way of /together/ again.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 71





	Don't Let Go

**Author's Note:**

> Canon divergent from the end of 6x09, only in the way that I originally didn’t think Bellarke would reunite until after Josephine was donezo. I stubbornly refuse to let go of the reunion scene my brain came up with. No anomaly mess, no Abby or Marcus' canonical fates, and off-screen Becho breakup.

Bellamy stormed out of the tent, not caring that he had stepped out into a downpour, as long as he put distance between himself and Gabriel...Xander... _whatever_ he wanted to call himself these days. The man may be the lesser evil compared to Russell’s santimonious take on serial murder, but being around any bodysnatcher for too long left a bad taste in his mouth. 

He was soaked within moments, hair and clothing clinging to his body like a second skin. It was only after he pushed back the heavy fall of hair plastered to his face that he spotted it, a flash of yellow several yards away, standing out blatantly against a blurry landscape of greens, browns, and grays. Any real details eluded him through the blinding sheets of rain, but it was still enough to electrify every sense and fill him with a dangerous sort of hope. 

His heart pounded, hammering out a desperate tattoo in time with the rapidfire mantra of her name in his head. _Clarke, Clarke, Clarke_. He fought desperately to keep his hopes from rising too high. Gabriel may have claimed she was in the clear, but nothing in this place had been trustworthy from the moment they landed. Still, despite himself, he started moving without conscious choice, and just as he was about to start running, that tantalizing glimpse of color became abruptly clearer as a familiar beloved figure raced toward him. 

Clarke’s absence over the past days, from her supposed death to her life hanging in the balance for the hundredth time since the Dropship, had been a desperate misery bourne of knowing what it was to lose her, ripping and tormenting until he was forced to slap a bandage over the gaping wound of her loss in order to make that wretched deal with Russell. Losing her was the equivalent of having his heart torn away from the very core of him, only to be hastily returned shattered and broken from the moment he met Clarke’s soulful eyes and found an imposter looking back at him. 

The overwhelming longing and ache to have her back at his side had fuelled his every moment since realizing she was still alive, and now here she was, propelling herself towards him with that same desperate need that had been haunting his every breath and step. 

They finally drew close enough to one another for their eyes to connect and Clarke nearly sobbed with relief, the naked awe and love etched across his face all she needed to abandon her reservations and fly into his arms, strong and warm as he wrapped them around her. She clung to him, revelling in the real, tangible evidence of Bellamy pressed against her. 

Pulling back just enough to meet his gaze and speak, she paused as he raised a hand to cup her cheek, a calloused thumb tracing the progress of the soft smile she gave him. A beat of something heavy and unspoken passed between them, and then Bellamy dipped his head to brush his lips against hers. Once, twice; soft, tentative, and questioning. Lips parted just enough for a shuddering breath to fill the air between them and then they collided together, desperate and hungry for contact. 

Strong hands found her hips, lifting her to him and her legs locked around his waist, anchoring her to his body. Their hands were anything but idle, his caressing her hips and back as she arched encouragingly into his touch, hers stroking his jaw and neck, tangling in his hair, tugging and urging him closer and closer still. Anything to erase the infinitesimal space between them, until she would never have to part from him ever again. 

The rain continued to pelt down against their skin, cold and biting, but Clarke hardly noticed as Bellamy kissed her with an intensity akin to a starving man presented with a feast. His heat was intoxicating, scorching her everywhere and burning her from the inside out. Eager to explore more of her, he broke the kiss to trail down to her neck. She gasped and hummed in approval, but the absence of his mouth on hers, consuming her every thought and sensation, brought forward a whisper of doubt in the back of her mind. A reminder of everything she had seen and felt in the mind prison Josephine trapped her in, how real and tangible it all had been, and the cold, heavy weight of doubt began to plague her. 

What better way for a sociopath hijacking her brain to make certain she faded away quietly than letting her believe she had escaped and gotten everything she wanted?

Fear settled heavy and tight in her chest, a low whimper rising in her throat. Bellamy paused his attentions, uncertain for a beat whether the sound was one of pleasure or distress, question answered when he licked his lips and realized he tasted salt. She was crying. 

Clarke was crying and he panicked. If he had misunderstood, if he had crossed the line, misinterpreted the signs from her, he would walk himself out into Sanctum’s wilds and be done with it. 

“Clarke...Clarke, what’s wrong? Did I...I thought you wanted...did I hurt you?”

She vehemently shook her head in denial. The day Bellamy Blake touched her without consent was the day she could be sure he had been bodysnatched himself. “No, Bell, it’s not…” she trailed off, face collapsing into an expression of abject misery, and he immediately cupped her face in concern. “Talk to me, Clarke.”

She sobbed and his heart twisted, helpless and raging against all those who had ever hurt her. Her eyes were dark and haunted, red-rimmed with tears, and he struck by a profound desire to bundle her up and take her far, far away, leave behind all the chaos and pain and finally have the time to heal in peace. 

“Is this real?” she pleaded brokenly, and that longing only continued to grow. “Please, Bellamy, tell me this is real!”

He took her hands, placing one against the pulse in his neck, slipping the other beneath the collar of his shirt to rest over his heart. “This is real, Clarke. _I’m_ real. I’m right here. Can you feel me?”

Clarke nodded, focusing on the palpable proof of his life and his devotion, the steady beating of his loving, loyal heart. “Bellamy,” the whisper of his name was soft and tender as she tipped her forehead against his and held his gaze. 

Bellamy took in a shuddering breath, framing her face in large, warm hands. “I’ve got you, Clarke. I promised you together once, I won’t let you down again.”

\---  
  
Caught up in the chaos once more, it was days before they next found a moment alone. In the golden light of a new dawn over Sanctum, Bellamy held his best friend...partner... _soulmate_ , revelling in the return of the complete and utter relief that was having her safe and secure in his arms. Too haunted by her recent revival to have any conscious concern about being a hovery creep, he faithfully dogged at her heels for the rest of the day, her vigilant shadow as she made the rounds among their people. 

It was only several hours after the sun dipped below the horizon that Clarke called it quits and they walked side by side to the quarters set aside for her. 

At first, his intentions were only to see her to the door, determined to break himself out of this needy fixation and leave her be. But a growing sense of dread filled him the closer they drew to the threshold, Clarke herself hesitated as they came to the door. 

He waited for a moment, then two, before softly inquiring, “Clarke, are you alright?”

She began to nod, but stopped herself, visibly struggling for what to say. She opened her mouth to start and stop a few time, growing more and more frustrated with each failure. Seeking his strength, she reached for his hand, Bellamy immediately entwining his fingers. She closed her eyes, breathing in deep, and he raised their joined hands to brush a kiss against her palm as some inkling of understanding finally dawned on him. “Clarke, it’s alright to ask for things you want. It doesn’t make you selfish and it doesn’t make you weak.”

Taking into another breath, steadily meeting his soft, adoring eyes, her sky-blue gaze was vulnerable but determined, “Bellamy, will you stay with me?”

There was really only one answer he could give. 

\---

Bellamy Blake was going to die. He was going to perish a very happy man, but perish he would nonetheless. 

Shedding their boots and coats, the pair had settled together on the bed, shyness cast away as they wrapped themselves around one another. Lying quietly in the dark, it had not taken long to realize sleep wasn’t yet coming. 

_“You still awake?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_When she chose not to elaborate further, Bellamy tried again. “You okay?”_

_Clarke let out a low sound, a humorless sort of chuckle, and curtly shook her head. She bumped his chin from where her face was tucked against his neck, and brushed her lips apologetically against his jaw. “Honestly, Bell, I don’t even know if being in the realm of ‘okay’ is even possible anymore.”_

_“Fair enough.” Bellamy kissed her temple, nuzzling into her hair. She nestled closer. “I’m here if you wanna share what’s on your mind, though. Together, remember?”_

_She hummed thoughtfully, raising her head to look down at him. “You really meant that, didn’t you?” she murmured. “Together from now on, in everything?”_

_“Of course,” he avowed, as solemn an oath as he had ever made. Something passed through her gaze that he couldn’t quite read, but before he had time to decipher it further, Clarke had leaned down, cupped his chin, and guided his mouth to hers._

_He groaned, pressed himself further into the warmth of her. Bellamy had found his new heaven, wet, hot, and sweet, drawing him in deeper and deeper until he could barely think, barely breathe, knowing only the taste of her. Realization clicked into place in his head, finally recognizing what he had seen in her eyes. Need. Need she was quickly awakening within him as well._

One kiss became two and three and a few dozen more. Clarke fisting the collar of his shirt, pulling him down on top of her as she lay back, slotting their hips together with her legs cinching around his waist. They kissed and kissed until his jaw began to ache and he felt his lips might bruise, bodies arching and grinding in an inseparable mix of fervor and friction specifically designed to be the death of him. 

The pressure built and built with every arch, every thrust, every grind, only to reach an unfulfilled plateau of inaction every time. But despite the frustration, riding the edge was a delirious sort of pleasure, ony for an intrusive string of rationale to break through the haze of his ardor.

Even with the maturity of restraint that came with his late twenties, his control wasn’t invincible, and continuing on meant making a mess of the only pants he had in the city. Come morning, neither a walk of shame in those same soiled trousers or calling one of their friends to bring him a change of clothes sounded the least bit appealing, and he reluctantly broke their kiss. 

A low whine of protest rose up in her throat as he withdrew, her head tilting up to chase his lips before her eyes fluttered open. Desire had rendered her gaze dark and hungry, pupils blown until only the slightest hints of blue were left, but Bellamy could still read the confusion there. Still, her hold on him tightened. “Bellamy, don’t stop,” she murmured throatily, rolling her hips up to meet his. 

He groaned, clamping down on her hips to still them lest he end up embarrassing himself. “Princess, you keep that up, I’m not gonna last. I want this to be good for you, so you gotta let me loose.

“It is good,” Clarke reassured, pecking his mouth and giving him a soft smile. “Just...don’t let go. Don’t let me go.”

A lump of emotion rose up in his throat as the layers of meaning to her words settled in his mind. For the first time since their reunion after Praimfaya, he felt that he was finally seeing clearly. Every other move he had made had been a misstep- Octavia, Echo, Madi and that damned chip, Harper and Monty, Jordan, _Murphy_. Bellamy had made mistake after mistake, and it was beyond time he started making up for his blunders. Time to make up for the hurt, start to heal the wounds between him and Clarke and take his place again as a real partner at her side. Maybe after a thousand apologies and few knocks to his hard head, they could focus on _together_. And together, they would help Madi, do better with Jordan, untangle the mess with Murphy. One step at a time, side by side. 

For now, exhausted and heartsore, he could at least do one thing for Clarke Griffin. He held her close, and he didn’t let go. 

They reluctantly parted long enough to shed the rest of their clothes, but they were back together a moment later, skin to skin and body to body. Warm, calloused fingers slipped between them, between her thighs, testing and readying, an ardent groan escaping him as he found her wet and open. Strong arms cinched around her waist, keeping their bodies flush and his grip tight, he held her eyes as he carefully eased himself inside her. True to his word, not letting them part in the rise and fall, he braced his weight against the mattress beneath her, levering on his toes, and slowly began to move. 

Clarke clung to him in turn, feeling every brush of his skin, every creak of the bed frame, every rustle of the sheets as they rocked together. Pleasure thrummed through her, tempting her to let her eyes flutter closed and lose herself in the rhythm and alchemy of their bodies intertwining. But still, she held his gaze, reading every ounce of love and trust and devotion he laid bare in his dark eyes, and together ( _together_ ) they moved as one. 

_Together._ Tomorrow, they would be partners again, side by side to fix their wrongs and those wrought by forces around them. But for tonight, they breathed and arched and kissed and loved, _together_ , as lovers, until golden dawn appeared once more over Sanctum, and the wheels of duty began to turn yet again. 


End file.
